


2024

by MarcarellaPizza



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, References to Depression, Reincarnation, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21555769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcarellaPizza/pseuds/MarcarellaPizza
Summary: Nimble fingers prod at his hip curiously, testing the rawness as he sits upright. There’s a faint ache, most likely needing a heat pack after time on the ice, and Viktor’s heart clenches in his chest.— Another year, another day. —Yuri was right — Viktor was old.Very, very old.
Relationships: Katsuki Mari & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Makkachin & Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	2024

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Another post! This time I think I should warn for some sensitive topics:
> 
> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH  
> \- It happens a lot
> 
> DEPRESSION/ IMPLIED SUICIDE/ ATTEMPTS  
> \- It's not the conclusion of the story, no one dies of this, it's attempts
> 
> HOPEFUL ENDING  
> \- It's hopeful but may make you cry
> 
> Please look after yourselves, I want y'all to grow and thrive so I won't midn if you click out of this story UwU

_— Another year, another day. —_

The wisp of smoke from the lone candle curls up into the air before it fades away, leaving nothing but the candle wick burnt and shrouded. Viktor doesn’t move from where he sits and stares, eyeing the melting wax slowly drip, drip, drip onto the stiff frosting.

The cupcake is vanilla flavoured, topped with strawberry icing and a golden wrapper. It cost him $3 at the local bakers and ten minutes of heckling.

It tastes somewhat bitter in his mouth, but he chooses to eat it anyway; that had been the last of his personal weekly allowance and he was determined not to waste it.

“You didn’t miss much.” He turns to the loyal poodle at his side, smiling fondly as she peers at the remains of the treat with hopeful eyes, “It probably wasn’t worth all that struggle either.”

Viktor extends his long legs from the criss-cross-applesauce position he’d bent them in, stretching the muscles as he kneads at his hamstrings. The dull ache from that day’s use lingers, but it’s far more tolerable than it had been when he was 15. 

“I should get ready for bed, I’m expected early tomorrow.” He mutters to the dog as he staggers to his blistered feet. He pauses and waits, the dizziness of standing too quickly blinding him temporarily as he shakes his head.

There’s nothing special about the 25th of December; _— Another year, another day. —_

* * *

Viktor only supposes that some all-seeing deity is to thank for how he finds himself here again, although he isn’t sure if thanking is the word he’d choose.

It’s tiring. He’s tired. He feels the urge to scream and thrash about in frustration. Why was he still here? How? There’s a new sound ringing in his ears; a beeping machine of a heart monitor, some voices; he’s in the hospital.

“So beautiful.” He hears a woman, but his eyes are unfocused as he waves a hand uncoordinatedly, desperately trying to smack away whoever dared call him beautiful when he knew how ugly he truly was. “Hello Viktor~”

Wait what?

And thus, it begins.

_— Another year, another day. —_

* * *

He gains sight just a few days later, blinking around the ground curiously as he waves about. He finds himself trying to get his very weak limbs to work and he finds that he doesn’t recognise the woman who’s supposed to be his mother. He doesn’t recognise the man who’s supposed to be his father.

They are not his parents.

“Get away from me!” He tries to protest, but his mouth forms nothing but babble.

If this was fate’s intention, to give him a “second shot”, he was determined to let it hit him in the chest.

* * *

“Viktor has seemed to show a great… talent.” The formally attired woman says one day. _— Another year, another day. —_ It’s said with eyes sparkling, that look that Viktor recognises all too well. “We’re thinking he’d be better to… move up a few years.”

All eyes are on him, like a prize to be won. It feels wrong, he still doesn’t understand. He overhears someone muttering, “Are you saying he’s…?”

“Yes.” The woman goes on, nodding excitedly, “They’re offering quite a lot, even willing to pay—”

And Viktor can’t help but sigh. He doesn’t blame them for the absurdity of it all, but it doesn’t exactly feel rewarding. He’d known this charade of his wasn’t going to keep up forever.

But Viktor accepts it as the misery grows, dislike increasing the more the direction in which he was headed for became clear. ‘Father’ claps his hands, the lady shakes the other, like a deal freshly made, and Viktor is addressed only once; “You’re going to do great things for Russia, boy.” he recalls. 

They’re nothing but bitter, distant, familiar words.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for the world to discover him, in fact, it takes a single video gone viral on his first day and the rest, as they say, is history.

_— Another year, another day. —_

There’s murmured background talk, most definitely about him but he ignores it; he hates it.

_— Another year, another day. —_

His parents now may be kinder, but he resents them for the additional years they’ve put him through.

_— Another year, another day. —_  
_— Another year, another day. —_  
_— Another year, another day. —_

* * *

Being a ‘young kid’ as most people called him these days, had a pressure unlike any other. For one, Viktor is almost positive that no other person his age has ever experienced such hardships before.

Then and again, most people his age were probably off doing their own thing and not in the situation he was currently in.

He grasps at the balcony railing and peers over the edge, a familiar yet not, poodle at his side. “One day—

_— Another year, another day. —_

“—you will be gone and I’ll still be here.” He sighs. The cold air stings his eyes as he blinks to fight the tears. The dog barely makes a sound, ununderstanding towards the silver haired boy. “I’ve already gone through that one you know…” Viktor grins ruefully, “Actually I’ve done it 5 times… It never gets easier and yet I keep seeking out companionship.”

The poodle, nameless, whines, pawing at Viktor’s bare legs. He doesn’t feel the light scratches of nails or the frigid air, his pale skin is numb and his lips are turning blue. He inspects the mobility of each finger and toe before scoffing, turning towards the dog. The poor thing is shivering but too stubborn to leave their master’s side.

“Okay, we’ll go in for today—

_— Another year, another day. —_

“—but don’t think I won’t come back another time.” he concedes, a bitter smile pressed on his lips. “One day you won’t be here and I will, and I may just feel like starting anew.”

* * *

He’s practiced and well rehearsed, been through this game enough times to know how to win. You keep still, you play, you smile brightly and appease the unfamiliar faces who claim to know and love you.

And then you wait for the chance to escape.

Viktor has done this a hundred times by now, he knows how to get away as soon as all eyes are off of him. 

None have ever questioned their Viktor’s behaviour.

He still doesn’t entirely know what the name of this game he’s in is called, but he knows the rules well enough, he knows the logistics and the aim or so he thinks. He doesn’t understand what’s going on exactly, but he tries too — amongst the misery he’s swimming in.

And then he’d met the man called Yakov, and _he_ had shown him greatness.

_— Another year, another day. —_

* * *

This time, Viktor reaches 27, with the same face and the same appearance as he’d last seen himself. He thinks things may end the same.

Unlike the last time, he’s now wealthier, stronger, famous even. A figure skating prodigy — not the kid from university who’d been in a freak accident. He’s different and yet still the same; still as ugly as he’s always thought himself to be.

* * *

It’s not that he’s making fun of the blonde boy, he can just so clearly see how uninterested Yuri is in figure skating. He watches from the sidelines as their coach orders a round of toe loops, doubles, and he watches as the thirteen year old obliges mechanically.

“Even robots have more feelings than that Yura!” He calls out, much to the annoyance of Yakov. The young skater skids to a hockey stop, whipping his odd bowl haircut as he spins to face the other.

“EVEN OLD LADIES HAVE LESS GREY HAIR THAN YOU OLD MAN!” Comes the retaliation.

Somewhere distantly, Yakov begins yelling at the youngster to keep focus, and Viktor self consciously claps a hand to the middle of his hair where the parting gives way to a weakened whorl. He doesn’t tease the kid again, he merely pouts petulantly and announces he’s going to warm up.

He wasn’t grey, it was platinum blonde! And he wasn’t old, he was turning… well supposedly 28.

But as he pushes himself into a side split, hands reaching for toes, he frowns at the newfound tenderness of his pelvic joints. 

Nimble fingers prod at his hip curiously, testing the rawness as he sits upright. There’s a faint ache, most likely needing a heat pack after time on the ice, and Viktor’s heart clenches in his chest.

_— Another year, another day. —_

Yuri was right — Viktor was old.

Very, very old.

* * *

You know, Viktor is surprised he’s managed to fake it this far. He’s surprised he’s managed to put up with the struggle as it is. 

He loves surprises.

He loves giving people surprises which hey, at least he can make others feel something.

But he’s never been surprised before; shocked, maybe even freak out — sure. But has he ever felt the rush of wonder?

No.

And then just to spite him; fate surprises:

At first, Viktor isn’t quite sure if it’s a fever dream, because truthfully, he has never experienced one. He guesses it’s another curveball in this game of his, but the person that sits at his bedside is a stranger, a familiar yet disturbing stranger.

Was this perhaps sleep paralysis? Again, Viktor has no past reference to base this off and despite what he thinks is supposed to happen, he can very well move his body.

A hallucination then?

The figure shakes their head, merely a cloud or a shadow at best. It resembles a young individual certainly, but beyond that is nothing else.

“Am I going to die? I can’t.” Is the first thing out of his lips, the ironic meaning behind his words going unnoticed. The figure breathes an airy laugh before clearing their throat.

“No… no you’re perfectly fine.” They say, in the most adorable Russian ever spoken. The vowels aren’t as strong, feel a lot loopier than a true native speaker, but are warm and inviting nonetheless. “I shouldn’t be doing this but I think it could help.”

Could help? What could help? What for?

But the weird thing, or person, continues, like Viktor isn’t confused and isn’t trying to wrap his head around such an absurdity. The shadow person ignores the skating legend’s whispers of an attempt to speak.

It’s as if they’re saying “Wait, later.” And so Viktor gives up fruitlessly.

“Right now you feel lifeless, guidless, that you don’t know your direction. You’ve felt this over and over… many times.” The voice says, and at this, Viktor’s eyes widen in anticipation. How had this strange person known exactly that? What had they meant? Did it mean the same thing to him as it did to them? Was this his brain’s personification? 

The irking feeling grows and he soon suspects that a new player has joined his game.

“I can’t do much, but I promise, just wait. Two, zero, two and six. You’ll see.”

Viktor blanches in confusion, words dying at his tongue. This isn’t the first time he’s faced such strange things, he’s constantly growing up with the impossible. Yet he wants to demand how, or what, even why of the stranger but he can’t — the mysterious person is gone seconds later, like the smoke of a birthday candle curling in air. Without a trace.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose and feels the cartilage jut out at the tip. He’s dreaming — or daydreaming he thinks, but now he can’t help but wonder what it all means.

_— Another year, another day. —_

Viktor succumbs to the fact that he’ll probably never decipher the message.

* * *

The top of the world is a very lonely place, because no one else is there at your side.

Viktor wonders often if the height would be enough.

The cameras are blinding and the people are overbearing. There should be pride and happiness but Viktor feels… nothing.

It’s a proven waste, he feels the urge, the need to start again. He needs to hit ‘reset’.

One more night, he tells himself. Whatever may happen, whatever it may mean, he’ll still be there to experience it. He has to, he doesn’t have a choice, and no one knows the weight of those words better than he.

* * *

It’s something that know one but he knows, Makkachin is not the first dog that Viktor has had. No one asks and everyone assumes that the dog has been VIktor’s only. It’s false information he lets them believe, something he tells the poodle one too many drunken times.

“I’m not who you think I am Makka.” he grumbles into the fancy glassware, “You have no clue. Your namesake did… sort of… I wish you did but it doesn’t make much sense to people let alone dogs.”

Makkachin tilts her head in a sort of consoling way. “And when you’re gone… I—I suppose the new Makkachine won’t know either.”

_— Another year, another day. —_

He scoffs, placing the wine down. How silly, his story’s chapters all die with the companionship of his poodles.

He almost wishes that he didn’t have to wake up the next day.

_— Another year, another day. —_

* * *

Yuuri waltzes into his life half naked, completely wasted and clinging to a pole with those thick, scrumptious thighs. His words are slurred, cutely accented by his native tongue, and half plastered like a barnacle to Viktor’s chest.

“BE MY COACH VIKUTORUUUU!” He exclaims, grinding on the star skater. 

Others watch them in morbidity, it’s a banquet after all with many important guests and skaters from that competition and he should feel embarrassed; thing is, he doesn’t. 

“That’s disgusting.” The Russian Yuri mutters beside him, scoffing in displeasure at the scene, “What a failure of a skater.”

The Japanese boy doesn’t pay anyone any attention and it shows as he tries and fails to sway his body to faint music and low murmurs. “Vikutoru.” Yuuri whispers, “One day, I’m gonna be just as good as you.”

_— Another year, another day. —_

Viktor blinks, a faint sensation tugging at his lips, curving it upwards. “Is that so?” He asks, and dare he say it, there’s an odd tingle where Yuuri’s bare skin meets his. “I suppose I’ll have to coach you then.”

Viktor doesn’t mean it, he shoots a conspiratory wink towards Yuri, his rinkmate, before announcing his departure and offering an arm to an unbalanced Yuuri in the process. 

He doesn’t take Yuuri to his room, he doesn’t stay to wait for the encore of dancers, he doesn’t watch to see the sadness mirroring Yuuri’s eyes.

“Vikutoru, wait!” Yuuri yells, wobbling on alcohol filled legs. “You’re amazing!” He stutters, wrapping an arm around the other.

Viktor blanches, blinking wildly around the occupied room for help. Not for the first time, he’s disappointed at the lack of assistance with the poor man in his arms, and so Viktor huffs, annoyed, before trudging towards the elevator with Yuuri.

On a normal day, Viktor simply wouldn’t care and leave the poor guy to himself, but for some reason, he’s feeling rather inspired; dare he say it, intrigued.

‘It’ll go away by the morning.’ He tells himself.

It does not.

_— Another year, another day. —_

* * *

Katsuki Mari is not like her brother. She’s quiet, yes, but seems to have more sense of her life and the direction she’s headed than Viktor or Yuuri combined. Viktor often wonders if she’s a psychic, to which the woman merely laughs instead of replying whenever asked. This time is no different as she appears in the main room of the Onsen to find him, almost like she knew he’d be there. “You are… lost.” She tries, english stunted with difficulty, Viktor turns his head up, glancing around the empty room.

“Me?” He still asks, pointing at his person to check.

“Yes.” She nods, “You.”

Viktor isn’t entirely sure what he should respond with, patiently waiting and watching as the older Katsuki wanders over to his lonesome spot on the floor. “You are not happy.” She says, studying him closely, “There is weight of years on shoulders.”

“Ouch Mari.” Viktor weakly jokes, “I’m not that old… you’re older than me.”

“Not meaning.” She says, frowning with a shake of her head, “You have seen lots… lots and lots of… life.”

The lack of understanding physically frustrates her as she clicks her tongue, turning towards the entrance way and calling for her brother. Viktor watches on as Yuuri hurries from the kitchens, apron acquired and an annoyed look on his face. “What? I’m helping mom unlike you.” He says in english.

“Help translate for boyfriend.” She waves a hand to Viktor who sheepishly smiles.

“Oh.” Yuuri says, “Okay… what is it?” There’s a moment where the garble that expels from Mari’s mouth goes unregistered in Viktor’s brain and his limited vocabulary in the Japanese language goes out the window. “Wait what?” Yuuri pauses, head shaking, “Okay...uhmm..”

Viktor expectantly looks at him, reading the confusion across his features. Mari merely nods in affirmation and Yuuri asks a form of question. There’s a moment where he tries to decipher what she means. “She says… there’s… hurt? Or more so that she understands what has happened to cause you pain and grief…” Mari claps her hands to signal that yes, that’s exactly what she had been trying to say as her brother continues. “Um… and she’s asking how many… lives? I-I don’t really— Viktor is this making any sense to you? Or is Mari just being stupid?”

Viktor turns to look at the woman, blinking. “Mari,” he grins, “Are you trying to joke with me?”

The woman huffs as Yuuri ‘tsks’ her, returning to his kitchen duties in the Onsen. “Stop being a tease and hurry up!” Yuuri admonishes behind him, but Mari barely moves.

“Baka.” She flicks his forehead, earning a small wince in protest, “You know what I am saying.”

There’s a pause as Viktor stares at her, contemplating if he should talk or ask how she’d most definitely known what he’s been through. There’s something about her that screams familiar and he can’t pinpoint what it is. “I do… Yuuri doesn’t.” He explains slowly, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “But it’s been... many… many, many, many… I gave up counting after 75.”

Mari hums, thinking as she stands to fasten one of the work aprons around her waist. Viktor watches, anticipating some sort of reply. “You had dream...Ni, nuru, ni to yon.” She says, leaving.

Two, zero, two and four.

He’s heard those numbers before, once, almost a couple years ago.

_— Another year, another day. —_

* * *

Viktor hasn’t gone back to Russia in 3 years. No one says anything about his sudden disappearance from the figure skating world, no one bothers him with the logistics of it all.

It’s perhaps only the Kasukis, Yuri Plisetsky and Yakov who are concerned, who’ve asked, who’ve tried to make sense of it all.

Viktor shrugs, like his behaviour means nothing at all. “Viktors disappear all the time.”

_— Another year, another day. —_

“If something’s wrong… you can talk to me, you know that right?” Yuuri says softly, a hand gently squeezing his bicep. 

“I know My Yuuri.” Viktor responds with, a tired smile on his face, “But sometimes you can’t fix things.”

“You’re worrying me, Love.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, so speak. Please.”

But Viktor merely shakes his head. It’ll be all over soon, no matter what anyone says, a year, ten years, 20, 50, just like that, will pass him in a blink of an eye.

He’ll still be here though. Like a tortured soul. He’ll be here for the next year, and the next, and the next and the—

_— Another year, another day. —_

He doesn’t realise he’s sobbing until he feels a solid, warm mass in his face, and a hand caressing the back of his head. “Shhh, Vitya, shhh.” He hears Yuuri’s voice, the sounds reverberating in his chest. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It’s most definitely not okay.

Viktor cries harder, clinging desperately. He doesn’t want to imagine a life without all this, he doesn’t want to eventually forget after being so long without Yuuri.

There are things he can’t remember anymore, things in his childhoods, teenage years.

He doesn’t want to forget Yuuri. He doesn’t want to live anymore.

_— Another year, another day. —_

* * *

“Two, zero, two and four.” Viktor mutters under his breath. They don’t make much sense to his fiance who stares at him puzzled, but Viktor frowns in concentration as he continues to focus on them anyway. “Two, zero, two and four… two, zero, two and—”

“Vitya baby, what are you going on about?” Yuuri precautions, a hand gently squeezing his shoulder. Viktor startles, turning to face the Japanese man beside him as he blinks, processing.

“What was that My Yuuri?” He asks.

“I asked what you’re talking about.” Yuuri explains, albeit hesitantly, “You’ve been muttering… numbers.” Viktor’s light eyes widen in disbelief, as if he hadn’t known he’d been caught.

“Outloud?” He asks and he receives a nod in reply. “O-oh… it’s nothing, I had a… dream once and some weird thing told me to wait for some numbers and I guess I got fixated on their meaning.”

Yuuri frowns, biting his lip.”Two, zero, two and four.” He reiterated, just because he feels the need to clarify.

“Yeah and then Mari said them to me once and… it was just… strange.”

“My sister repeated random numbers from a dream of yours to your face?” Yuuri raises an eyebrow, “Maybe I can ask her what they meant—?”

“No! No don’t do that.” Viktor exclaims. “It’s-it’s really nothing… Nothing important. I’ll probably forget about it all over again anyway.”

“Vitya?” Yuuri calls softly, but Viktor remains silent as he turns away. “Vitya baby, talk to me, please?” There’s a terse silence, filled with doubt and fear as Viktor throws himself back into the couch seat and stares up at the ceiling. It looks almost like he’s hoping an answer will fall from the sky but this time, Yuuri knows he’s going to get an answer.

“I just want to die.” He coldly announces.

Oh.

Oh god.

That wasn’t what Yuuri had expected.

Not at all.

_— Another year, another day. —_

* * *

“I don’t want to forget you Yuuri.” Viktor explains to him, slowly, slowly opening himself up. He has to be careful as to not startle the other man as he’d once done the other week with his horrific revelation. He hopes that Yuuri doesn’t leave him.

But perhaps it’d be better if he did anyway.

“You won’t forget me Vitya.” Yuuri says softly, a hand caressing a tear stained cheek. “Just as I’ll never forget you, even when we grow older and—”

“We won’t get to grow older.” Viktor shakes his head frantically, “That’s what I mean! I’m not… I’m… I’ve been…” He shudders in frustration.

“You’re not what?” Yuuri hesitates, lip bitten red. “Are you sick?”

“No.” Viktor says shortly, “Although sometimes I wish I were… It’s a never ending cycle Yuuri, and for once I was so grateful to have met you and I still am!” The ‘but’ went unsaid, both men waiting for the punchline. “I… just... realised that even If I am in love and feeling better about life… I’ll eventually outlive you and I’ll eventually forget about you… I don’t want to forget someone so dear to me... I don’t even remember my Mama’s name.”

Yuuri frowns, confusion settling in. “Vitya, your mother’s name is on the internet. How could you have—”

“Not her.” Viktor shook his head, “My first Mama, my real mama, the one that brought me into the world in 1864.”

“1864 was… centuries ago.” Yuuri breathes, hands clammy as he stares.

_— Another year, another day. —_

“I know.”

_— Another year, another day. —_

“But—”

“It’s a never ending cycle.” Viktor says glumly, eyes burning holes into Yuuri’s own. “It never ends, it won’t end. I’ll die, I’ll fade away…”

“Viktor...” Yuuri softly mutters, frown creasing on his forehead. He places a tentative hand over the other’s and squeezes, as if to comfort him. The Russian smiles but it does not meet his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter my Yuuri because one day, I’ll grow old, or I’ll become sick, or something else will happen and I’ll die—”

“Stop saying that!”

_— Another year, another day. —_

“And then I won’t.”

* * *

Viktor Nikiforov has been playing this game for what he has realised now to be 155 years, and he’s fairly certain that even in this round of the game, the only permanent piece is him. “I’m tired of it all.” He sighs to nobody in particular, and it’s true. He’s tired, he doesn’t want to do this anymore, regardless of how selfish it may seem, he’s tired.

“I know.” He hears Yuuri mutter, shuffling to flop onto the couch by his side. “I wish I could do more to… to, I don’t know, make your life seem interesting…”

Viktor’s muscles tense up as his neck snaps towards his fiance. “Fuck I wasn’t thinking… I, I really shouldn’t say that anymo—”

“It’s okay, really.” Yuuri curls into the older man’s form, body shaping to fit the other. “I know that I have… impossible things to live up to and—”

“No. No you don’t.” Viktor continues, hands gripping tightly at Yuuri’s own. His nimble fingers play with the ring that rests on the fourth finger, twisting the metal in place. “I’m being… stupid.” He begins, a hand raised in protest as Yuuri tries to cut him off. “No. Really. I am. I should be… enjoying this time with you and instead I’m busy worrying about running out of time… and well, that’s just stupid.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He mumbles, gaze averted.

“I’m afraid that there’s always going to be some form of hurt with the good.” Viktor shrugs. “That can’t be changed Love, we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get there.”

“And if you die before me?” Yuuri asks, eyes wide.

“Then I’ll come find you.” he says with a strike of determination, “I don’t know if you’ll like me as an infant but…”

“I’ll look after you.” Yuuri smiles weakly, “We’ll take it day by day.” There’s a small peace between them, with nothing but old Makkachin the 13th snoring wistfully by their feet.

“Day by day.” Viktor smiles, “Year by year.”

_— Another year, another day. —_

* * *

“Viktor, why are there underwear hanging off of the ceiling fan?” Yuuri sighs, head tilted up in question. To the left of him, where their bedroom door is, comes Viktor, bursting through in nothing but his birthday suit.

“You found them!? Oh thank god.”

Yuuri stares at his fiance before sighing, facepalming as a result.

_— Another year, another day. —_  


* * *

“Do you ever think about kids Vitya?” Yuuri asks him, voice trembling with worry.

“Well as much as I’d love that Love, we are both very gay and very in love men.” He responds with a smirk on his lips and an airy laugh. Yuuri swats his arm playfully, anxiousness fading with the moment.

“I do suppose we already have Yuri.” Yuuri says cheekily, and Viktor snorts an ugly laugh.

“I’m calling him son from now on.” He declares, pulling Yuuri into his chest. “But for now, let’s not worry so much yeah?” He places a tender loving kiss on the crown of the Japanese man’s head, heart fluttering as he feels him snuggle closer.

“I can’t wait to marry you Vitya.” Yuuri says softly, “I love you so, so much.”

* * *

Two, zero, two and four were not random numbers.

“I pronounce you gay loveshits husband and husband. You may now kiss the groom.”

“I wanted to be a bride!” Viktor playfully wines, snagging Yuuri closer to his body. Letting Yuri officiate was an odd choice that some didn’t understand, but as the newly wed couple kissed under the cherry blossoms in the year of 2024, finally, Viktor felt at peace.

“We have all the time in the world for each other now.” Yuuri whispers, eyes sparkling. Neither man mentions the secret weight that pins them both down as Viktor leans in once more. This is their moment, not some twisted time for fate.

“That we do My Yuuri.” Viktor agrees. His heart quite literally soars in his chest as he twirls his husband. There’s nothing that can ruin this moment.

_— Another year, another day. —_

“I told you those numbers would be important.” Mari comes up to her brother and in-law. Yuuri frowns in confusion at his sister’s words.

“Numbers?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing. Mari nods.

“Two, zero, two and four.” The Russian’s eyes widen, “I hadn’t realised that’s this year.”

“How did you…”

“Call it a hunch.” Mari simply says, a smirk on her face. She doesn’t wait for the response and turns around, disappearing into the sea of the wedding reception.

_— Another year, another day. —_

There’s a lot of blood and red, red, red —

Yuuri breathes deeply, focusing on what the paramedic says. He’s unusually calm for someone who’s been told that his newly wed husband is dead but no one pays that any sort of mind. “You have a concussion and a broken arm but that’s about the worst of it.” The doctor had told him, “Your husband saved you from the impact, I’m… sorry for your loss.”

But was this really a loss?

_— Another year, another day. —_

Yuuri believes his husband will be back. He hasn’t said anything to anyone, he just knows.

_— Another year, another day. —_

“Katsudon, how are you so fucking fine?!” Yuri Plisetsky screams, barrelling into the rink to see the Japanese skater, retired but skating regardless.

“You’re fine.” He points out, and his gut clenches as Yuri’s figure ever so slightly crumples.

“I- I mourned okay? Sobbed my heart out for the entire year…” He admits quietly, “It’s about time I got myself together but you. You never once seemed like it phased you that the supposed love of your life is dead!”

His voice echoes, slapping Yuuri in the face. “He isn’t coming back!” Yuri screams, a hand clenching the rink wall, “Are you stuck in denial?! HE. IS. GONE!”

“Yuri… I…” But Yuuri doesn’t know what else to say, he can only watch as Yuri finally collapses onto the ground, tears streaming down his face. “Yuri…”

_— Another year, another day. —_

He wonders truly how much patience he has. How long he’ll be able to wait and what exactly it is he’s expecting. 

Viktor had said his life starts from the beginning, so right now he should be two. Meanwhile, Yuuri was well into his thirties.

Yuri Plisetsky had given up trying to figure out how Yuuri’s brain worked. He doesn’t argue, he simply stays by his side, almost pitying him.

Yuuri doesn’t care for his pity.

_— Another year, another day. —_

Japan is a quiet place to be. It’s full of memories that don’t want to leave. Painful memories of both Vicchan and Viktor.

Yuri is still by his side.

_— Another year, another day. —_

“Katsudon, pass me the thing… I forgot the Japanese word.”

“You’ve lived here for two years… You don’t need to know everything yet.” Yuuri chuckles. Deep down he’s beginning to worry Viktor won’t be able to find him. A toddler at 4 can’t possibly do anything can they? Let alone travel to Japan...

“I like Kintsugi.” Yuuri says, “It’s like… patience and waiting to put something back together again… make it complete.” Yuri focuses on the way Yuuri pieces a broken teapot back together, seams sealed with molten gold. “It’s reuniting with the other half.” 

Yuri doesn’t say anything, he merely listens and stares, a frown etched upon his face.

_— Another year, another day. —_

“Yuuri. Viktor is dead.” Yuri says, hands grasping hold of Yuuri’s shoulders.

“I know that silly, he’s dead and I was there.” Yuuri smiles, but his gaze lies off in the distance, like he’s waiting any moment for Viktor to turn up.

_— Another year, another day. —_

“You need to see someone.”

_— Another year, another day. —_

“I’m fine Yuri.”

_— Another year, another day. —_

“Bullshit. You’re too far in denial to pull your head out of your ass!”

_— Another year, another day. —_

“I’m not!”

_— Another year, another day. —_

“YOU ARE! VIKTOR IS DEAD! HE ISN’T—“

“HE’S COMING BACK!” Yuuri screams, finally, after so long, he’s tired. “He’s coming back.” He repeats to himself weakly.

“Yuuri…” Yuri isn’t sure if he should go call for Mari, but the older Katsuki is busy tending to their parents needs. “The old man has been gone for… ten years, it’s been an entire decade.”

Yuuri releases a harsh breath. Had time really passed that quickly? Ten years, Viktor would be old enough to at least fool his new parents into being at the proper age to articulate the internet no? Yuuri could understand why a four month old, four year old, hell even six year old, couldn’t just try and contact his husband from another lifetime.

“He’s only ten.” Yuuri whispers, fists clenched. “He’ll come. I know it.”

_— Another year, another day. —_

Yuri doesn’t sit with Yuuri anymore, he spends his time helping around the Onsen, assisting Mari in looking after their father while Hiroko continues to cook. He’s ill for the time being, a common cold that’ll pass, but even this doesn’t seem to be a reason good enough for the younger of the Katsuki siblings.

“Viktor should have reached out by now.” Mari tuts under her breath. She thinks that Yuri doesn’t hear but he does, and so he turns to face her quickly.

“Is everyone in this family delusional?!” He berated her, surprising her as he yells. “First your brother, now you!”

“It’s true.” Mari insists, placing the silverware down gently, “Viktor should have… I don't know the English word — come back to life in a different form.”

“Reincarnated?” Yuri guesses, mouth agape, “That’s… just denial.”

“Maybe, maybe it isn’t.” Mari shrugs, “Unless Viktor finally figured out whatever it was forcing him to live that life… then he’s… actually gone.”

Yuri doesn’t have time for crazed ideas, he shakes his head and walks off instead.

_— Another year, another day. —_

It’s the first time that Yuuri openly cries for Viktor, and it’s merely he and Yuri alone in the Ice Castle. The triplets had just gone home from their skating practice and Yuuri and just gotten off a call with his sister.

Yuri is lost.

“He really is gone.” Yuuri sniffles, arms wrapped around himself for security. Yuri suddenly finds himself back at the bathroom after the Grand Prix finales, and he vividly sees a younger version of he and the Japanese skater interacting.

“Yuuri, I know…” he says lamely. He feels ridiculous for having prepared for this very moment and yet still failing miserably.

“He didn’t come back.” Yuuri sobs into his shoulder, staining the clothes wet, “Viktor isn’t coming back, he didn’t come back, it didn’t happen.”

He still doesn’t understand but he does hold him tighter, letting his namesake grieve in comfort.

_— Another year, another day. —_

Occasionally Yuri thinks that there’s a flash of silver, a dash of blue, a face that he almost recognised from papers and books.

But that’s impossible, and the moment he turns to take a second look, whoever they were, if there had been anyone in actuality, he sees no one, like a ghost.

_— Another year, another day. —_

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, fingers brushing gently against the swaddle of fabric, “Honey look at his hair, it’s so shiny and white!”

The baby gurgles, bright blue eyes twinkling as he grabs for the friendly face. “It’ll probably darken, when he’s older.” Yuuri mutters, staring eyes wide at his son. It’s not his fault that he’s thinking about who he’s thinking, he’s almost sure that everyone else sees it too. 

Just not with the background knowledge that he’d had.

The agency had said that the child had been left by his parents, both who couldn’t afford to take care. Yuuri swaddles the baby and shows Yuri, beside him, expression so similar to the one Yuuri had when he’d first seen him.

“He looks like…”

“Yeah… he… does.” Yuuri tries, holding the child.

“What’s his name?” Hiroko asks, cooing lightly as she brushes a chubby cheek in delight. The baby grins, an identical heart-shaped smile.

“Viktor.” Yuuri swallows. His eyes don’t leave the baby’s, and he knows, regardless of how much it is a coincidence, that this child is exactly that; a child. 

Nothing more and nothing less.

Yuuri sighs, shakily smiling as tears slip from his eyes. “Viktor.” He repeats, just so that everyone can hear him,

“His name is Viktor.”

_— Another year, another day. —_  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This story was Beta read for once but if needed, please let me know if you see any mistakes or inaccurancies!  
> Some explanation:
> 
> \- Viktor is reborn after every death as a baby, he has to live through his life again and again.  
> \- He permanently dies in the end :(
> 
> \- There IS a reason why he suddenly doesn't get reincarnated at the end, I won't reveal it JUST yet but there is one!
> 
> (+EDIT+)  
> I had considered writing a small follow up on the reasoning behind Viktor's permanent death, hwoever I don't think I could truly write a short epilogue thayt'd fit with the rest of this story, SO...
> 
> It can be left up to interpretation, that much is a given, however I personally viewed this as Viktor not being able to "move on" until he'd found happiness, in other terms; his L words, of which we know he finds in Yuuri. 
> 
> Therefore, after passing once he'd met Yuuri, his eternal life's purpose has essentially been fulfilled. This especially comes into play with the fact that it's implied that Viktor has tried (and suceeded) in ending his life multiple times in the past to "start the game again".
> 
> For some reason a lot of my recent YOI fics deal with death... What can I say, I have a knack for the unknown.


End file.
